


Oliver

by Curiaso



Series: Mr. and Mrs. Holmes [3]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst, Babies, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fatherhood, Fluff and Angst, Heavy Angst, Hopeful Ending, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Miscarriage, Motherhood, Pregnancy, Semi-graphic Stillbirth, Stillbirth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-27
Updated: 2017-08-27
Packaged: 2018-12-20 18:00:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11926233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Curiaso/pseuds/Curiaso
Summary: “I’m late.” She said behind a teacup, sipping after letting the words out.“Yes, I noticed. Would you like me to tell Jade to run to the chemist?”“Don’t be silly, I’ve got three more left in the bath.”OrMycroft and Matilda plan and prepare for a baby; only to have the world crash down.





	Oliver

**Author's Note:**

> Please read the tags before continuing. I do not want to trigger anyone. Thank you.

It was an arduous process of doctor's visits, supplements, and shots. Every time Matilda was ovulating (told by one of the many tests they had hidden away in the bathroom cupboard) Mycroft would be called on immediately, a glorified donor. Jade, as she was inclined to call herself currently, was even given a rough calendar of when Mycroft would need to have fewer meetings. 

The truth was, Mycroft did not particularly care one way or another. He was able to afford a child, several infact…. If it came to that. But he had no use for them, and he had long ago claimed to not be very good with children, or humans at all really. Of course that argument was a bit flawed considering he had a wife. But Matilda was just as odd as him in many ways, though a far better actor in covering up her multitude of eccentricities. 

But it wasn't as if he was absolutely opposed to having the things. Just rather disinclined to caring. However Matilda had set her heart on it, so he went along. They would make the appointments, she would take the supplements, and receive the shots. And he would be her sperm donor, ready to serve at every beck and call, if that was the way she intended. 

So no, Mycroft did not care for having progeny. Or at least, that's what he told himself. 

~0~

They sat in their dining room, too big for only the couple, when Matilda’s curling lips were given a reason. “I’m late.” She said behind a teacup, sipping after letting the words out. 

“Yes, I noticed. Would you like me to tell Jade to run to the chemist?” 

“Don’t be silly, I’ve got three more left in the bath.” They finished their breakfast a bit faster than they would on a normal day, and pretended they didn't run to the toilet together. 

If Mycroft was a bit put out on being forced to leave the room when his wife urinated on the sticks, he didn't show it. He’d seen everything on show, but she still insisted on a little mystery in what she looked like sitting on a toilet. Silly really. 

“Alright come in.” He opened the door to a thin stick resting innocently on the sink counter. Together they sat on the edge of the bath, and waited. If their hands were clasped tighter than usual, and their hearts faster, no one mentioned it. If both of them had images of a tiny red haired, grey eyed, chubby child running about on the back of their lids, neither spoke it. If they both waited an extra minute to look at the tiny screen, it didn't mean anything. 

And if both their eyes welled up at the two blue lines, and their arms wrapped tight around the others bodies, and their breaths were sharp and jagged with fear and joy in mixture….. Than could you really blame them? 

~0~

Her stomach had made space, like a balloon being filled patiently. They were cautious and waited till she was 14 weeks along to tell anyone but their Doctor. Her students had begun to guess at the 10 week mark (Matilda was rather thin, and any change in her midsection was very noticeable) but they were all terrified of being wrong and offending the Professor and therefor said nothing. Matilda’s parents, living in Norway after having spent 20 years in England and missing their home, were delighted at the news and were already beginning to plan for a visit once Matilda was close to term. Mummy and Father gave a great loud cheer when Mycroft called them with the news, and demanded he send a car so they could come and celebrate. They decided to tell the lucky uncle in person, but Sherlock took one look at the couple who were holding hands in public (a thing they never did) and knew immediately. 

“You should name it-” 

“We are not naming him Sherlock, you ridiculous man.” Matilda interrupted, smiling. 

“You're pregnant!?” John asked, eyebrows rising, and smile widening. He stood to give the women a hug. “Congratulations!” 

Matilda reciprocated, patting the shorter man's back, “Thank you, John.” 

~0~

Matilda decided she would allow Mycroft to hire someone to set up the nursery, but she kept close watch of the men painting, building, and decorating. When she didn't like something she made it known, and directed them how to fix everything to perfection. In two days, the nursery was more or less complete, lacking only certain essentials; a mobile for one, and clothing to fill the wardrobe. The walls were painted a soothing green, the furniture all a light brown.

“We need to go to the shops, love.” Matilda murmured, as she continued to read the book she was currently studying, ‘Last Reflections on a War’. 

Mycroft hummed from his position on the settee, lying down and doing his best to ignore the slowly building headache. 

“For onesies, and the like.”

~0~

Shopping was boring, and Mycroft hated it, but Matilda cooed and smiled at every little piece of cloth she found. “Is this some nesting instinct that's kicked in? I’ve never heard you call something adorable without some level of sarcasm in my life.”

“Oh hush my love, we’re going to have a baby and it's going to wear as many panda embroidered things as I care to shove him into.” 

Mycroft’s mood improved ever so slightly as the day progressed, because he found a little shirt with a pirate on it, and it reminded him so strongly of Sherlock that he put it in their cart immediately. Matilda sent a knowing smile in his direction at the new addition, and he steadfastly pretended not to see it. 

~0~

“I’ve bought a baby name book Mycroft. I’ve become a commoner.” 

He let out a rare laugh. “Mummy would be horrified. Best to name him something perfectly normal just to make her irate.”

“John then?” 

“I think Sherlock might kill us.” 

“Jack?” 

“No son of mine.” 

“Oliver?” 

The silence told her everything she needed to know. 

“Well then, I’ll put it on my list.”

By the end of the week the list of possible names had grown tenfold. 

“48 choices is not narrowing it down, Matilda.” 

“It is, if its 48 out of 1200.” 

~0~

Sherlock shifted his weight as he stood outside Matilda’s office, before knocking with his free hand.

“Come in.” 

His sister in law sat in a very large office chair, scrolling through her email inbox. 

“I’ve brought you something.” She startled at his voice, swiveling to face him. 

“Oh? Well let us see it then.” He held out his gift, and she took it with care. The stuffed, anatomically incorrect octopus smiled up at her. 

“Thank you so much, Uncle Sherlock.” She said teasingly, struggling up out of the chair to give him an awkward hug. The two had gotten to know each other rather well in Sherlock’s younger days. The woman had seen him at his lowest, had warned him when his drug use was beginning to wear Mycroft down to the bone, and had fed him when he’d forget to do so himself. 

“You should name him-” 

“No, Sherlock.” She pulled out of the hug with an amused smile on her face. “Let's get something to eat. Or at least come out with me, while I get something to eat.” Sherlock agreed, feeling warm satisfaction spread at how much Matilda clearly liked the octopus, judging by the delicate way she set the octopus besides her now closed laptop. 

~0~

The ambulance was ridiculously loud, she’d later think. For now all she could feel was shooting, stabbing pain in her lower back and stomach and the blood she could feel pooling at terrifying speed between her legs. The feeling of not knowing what was going to happen in the next hour ate at her, and she did her best to answer every question the paramedics asked.

They’d rush her into the hospital, and once they’d tested her and listened for a heart beat, and done ultrasound after ultrasound it would come down to one sorry fact. The baby was dead. Placental previa had ripped her of her joy. They prepped her for birth, gave her the epidural, and she pushed out a tiny body that refused to cry. 

Mycroft watched feeling like a statue as the nurses wrapped the tiny body as if his sons heart beat in his perfect little chest, and laid the cloth covered skin in Matilda’s arms. Her shoulders shook with sobs, and she stroked the tiny red tinted eyelids. 

When it was Mycroft’s turn to hold the bundle of blue, the man wondered at how light this heavy, heavy thing was. 

~0~

She was a stone on silk. A rock in the water. A weight in the palm of a child. She’d been in the bed since last night and Mycroft knew with a sort of terrifying surety that she’d had nothing to eat all day. He’d been home the entire time, hoping she’d eventually get up. But it was 4 now, and she hadn't moved as of yet. 

“Matilda-” 

“Don’t.” Her voice was rough, and monotone. All he could see was the top of her grey head and the thin peaks of her shoulders. They had stopped shaking with fine tremors yesterday, but the dead stillness of them today was scarier. Mycroft took hesitant steps toward the edge of the bed, before sinking down beside his wife. He didn't speak now, but he slid between the covers, dressed in a bathrobe, and wrapped an arm slowly around her waist. 

The stomach he found on the other side felt wrong after having 6 months of full roundness beneath his hand. Now, it felt softer, and he knew that if he laid eyes on it, it would look deflated. Empty. He nestled his long nose into the back of her neck, and they laid their together. She was an unpleasant, sweaty kind of warmth in the front of his body. She smelled stale, and her breathing was raspy with how many tears she’d shed. 

It took 15 minutes of just being there beside her for Mycroft to work up enough courage to try and get her up and out of her self-made prison. “Come on. Let's take a bath, shall we?” Instead of interrupting this time, Matilda went pliant, and allowed him to pull her up, and walk with her to the bathroom. The very same one they’d waited for the results of a tiny stick in. She stood still as he undressed her with care. There was nothing in him that was aroused by the sight of his wife hurting like this. Usually her nudity sparked something in him. Now, the slow removal of her clothes was done with love, but not lust. Her eyes were downcast, and he could tell she was inspecting the softening of her stomach. 

He took her hand, and held it as he twisted the taps to let out a soothing warm water. He continued to hold it as the tub filled, minute by minute. They didn't look at each other in this time, but rather in different directions. Matilda stood with her hand in his, and he sat on the edge of the tub with his arm outstretched to wrap his fingers in hers. Once the bath had filled enough, he turned off the tabs and helped Matilda in. Once she’d sat fully, he began washing her hair, then her arms and chest. Her legs, and bum. He stroked her stomach and back gently, and allowed her to clean her own labia. Slow, quiet tears sped down both their faces. Once they’d finished, he unplugged the bathwater, and stood her up. From the rack, he pulled a plush towel, and dried her with soft pats and rubs. Stepping out the tub, she walked into him, and huddled into his chest. She curved her spine to be shorter, and crossed her arms inward toward her breasts so that Mycroft’s arms felt like the only thing in the world. They stood there motionless, and mourning. 

~0~

“Adoption then.” Mycroft said quietly, weeks after the painful loss. 

“Really? You want that?.” Matilda was curled up beside him on their settee, and she looked up from his shoulder at the profile of his face. 

“I want you to be happy. And I wanted our… I wanted him to be-” Even the British government cries.

“Shhh.” She wrapped her thin arms around him, squeezing with more strength than she looked like she should be able to have. “I know. Me too.” Matilda sighed, closing her eyes and enjoying the feeling of having his head resting beneath her chin, on her collar bone. “Adoption then.” 

~0~

The small casts of his feet and hands were displayed in the nursery they had yet to fill with a child. The casts would move elsewhere eventually. For now, it was a balm on their burned hearts to see a part of him in the space they had designed to be his. Oliver Aaker Holmes would stay in their home, if not in body, than in spirit. 

The clothes they'd bought, and the octopus Sherlock had gifted sat untouched and unplayed with. Matilda liked to imagine what he would have been like. She'd imagine waking up in the middle of the night to his crying and feeding him in the rocking chair she'd bought with this little fantasy in mind. She'd rock as he suckled, and whisper how much she loved him. 

Mycroft tried and failed to stop seeing Oliver in the shirt with the pirate on it. He tried and failed to stop imagining what his warm weight would feel like as he grew slowly bigger, with the milk of his mother. 

The two of them spoke quietly about the little dreams they so desperately wanted to be true, and it helped. It helped to know that the loss was not going to ruin their marriage. It helped to know his end was not the start of their decline. And it helped to have someone who understood. But that didn't mean it stopped the hurt. 

Neither was ready for an adoption yet. But given time, maybe the ache of it all would be easier handled. And given time, maybe Oliver would be a fond memory rather than a painful hole.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading.


End file.
